Le Guin argues that speculative fiction "is not predictive; it is descriptive." The Left Hand of Darkness, written in the 60s as landmark works like The Second Sex and The Feminine Mystique began to harry the collective consciousness of the western world, is part and parcel to its era while also moving beyond it. Le Guin, quite like a good scientist, postulates: what if their existed a society without gender? What would it look like, and how would the people live? It is uncertain how much of the philosophy or beliefs implied in the novel are Le Guin's own versus how much is her following the thru-line of her characters. Such distinctions strike me as trivial. I am not here to decipher Le Guin's politic, but to follow her thought experiment -- and it is a lovely one.

The central "conflict" of the story is about miscommunication. Estraven, wrapped up in their culture's complex respectability and prestige culture, cannot effectively communicate with Genly. Genly, with his unacknowledged discomfort with Gethenian ambisexuality, cannot accept the unity of "male" and "female" within Gethenian individuals, and thus cannot communicate effectively. Even the two great nations conflicts arise out of a lack of communication - shutting down radio transmissions, refusing to compromise on border disputes, and interpreting the Envoy of the Ekumen as a threat, a messianic figure, or a political pawn. Le Guin captures the difficulties of communicating across cultures, and the struggles of trying to reach across the barriers of norm and stereotype.

While many have pointed out the use of the gendered "he" to reference Gethenians is a bit frustrating, I wonder if that is a part of Le Guin's writing from our unreliable Genly. Despite Le Guin's personal misgivings, I think the singular "they" would have worked quite nicely. I also feel the equivocation of sex and gender a little essentialist for my liking - but I also understand this novel slotted in history. Being a product of one's time isn't an excuse for failings, but it sure does explain them.

Perhaps my only disappointment is where I wish the author had delved deeper. The style, like all of Le Guin's work, is beautiful in its starkness. Her reservation with language makes each word feel as thoughtfully placed as a poem. However, her reservation stylistically left me wanting when it came to content. The best parts of this work centered on the contemplation of this ambisexual society, but Le Guin's characters are not built as types to really plunder the depths of what those differences truly mean. I would not have minded them breaking outside of the relatively shallow waters every once in awhile, to really chase a tantalizing thread of implication and see where it goes. Had it done so, I sincerely believe this work could have been elevated to one of genius. As is, it is still a moving, ruminative, vivid tale that I will enjoy returning to again.